My son, Nathan Jr, passed away recently, unexpectedly. We held a Covid compliant funeral and limited attendance wake in Charleston SC, where he lived for the last 15 years. Today, on August 30th, we had a zoom video conference for friends and family who could not travel to Charleston. The following is what I said about my son, introducing the videos and slide show memorials:
Thank you everyone for coming today, and taking time out of your morning or afternoon, depending on where you are geographically. Our son Christopher, as many of you have heard, unexpectedly died in his sleep the night of August 15th. He was 33 years old. He had a mild case of Covid back in June, but he appeared to get better after a few days. We do not know why he died, as the autopsy was inconclusive, but the coroner is running more tests that should be complete in mid September. We may never know exactly what took our son from this world, but we Do Know what a wonderful person Christopher was, and how many thousands of lives he touched in such meaningful, positive, caring, empathetic, helpful, compassionate, funny, inspiring, motivating, passionate, hilarious, insightful, musical, useful, intelligent, genuine, loving and kind ways. His passing leaves an enormous singularity, a voracious black hole that is tearing at the very fabric of our hearts.
Our son Christopher was magnetic. People were intrinsically drawn to him, and loved being around him. His mother and I raised him, and it appears - from the 100s of FaceBook and Instagram posts, from the 100s of his friends in Charleston who loved him, and from the stories his childhood friends keep sharing with me - that we raised an amazing person, a good human, as my friends and former colleagues in Bangalore would say. Over the last 2 weeks since his passing, I've lost count of the number of men and women who have told me
- I wouldn't have the job I have today, if it was not for your son
- Christopher built my first bike
- Your son helped me move
- I would not have stayed in school in Charleston and graduated if not for your son, because I knew I would not be able to be around him if I left
- Chris walked me home and made sure I got there safely when I had too much to drink
- Your son taught me everything I know about lighting
- Your son trained me as a bartender
- Christopher always listened to me; you always knew he authentically cared
- I could always count on your son when I needed help; I'd call him and he was always right there
- He always made me feel at home, and made me feel that I mattered
I always knew he was an exceptional person, but his passing has clearly shown me the countless lives he selflessly helped. Our son inspired others, usually in positive, creative, productive, meaningful ways. He led and encouraged and loved those who were inexorably drawn to him. Much like my father, Chris's grandfather, his Dzia Dzia, Christopher loved engaging everyone in friendly & lively conversation. No one remained a stranger to our son for long. Our progeny made everyone feel comfortable and welcomed when he was around them. If you were having a bad day or having a tough time, everyone in Charleston knew they could count on Christopher to help them feel better, to brighten their day. It was a gift he had, and he gave generously, warmly, selflessly. For those of you who did not live in Charleston, or who had not seen Christopher very much since he went to college there, our son did not tolerate fools, bullies, meanness, hatred, or racism. The inequality, brutality and injustice he witnessed first hand this year, as he and other peaceful demonstrators were needlessly tear gassed, shot at, and attacked in-and-around Marion Square across Calhoun street from where he worked at Big Gun, deeply upset our son, and he was struggling to find ways to make his community a better place for everyone.
He was real, genuine, caring, confident (sometimes overconfident), fearless, fierce, and loving. Whether you knew him as Chris, Christopher, little Uzbek, Casmir, Nathan Jr, C Papa, or Papa Prolowski, your life was better, enriched, for having known him. There will never be another Christopher Joseph, but we all can continue to carry part of him within us, his indomitable spirit, on our journeys through life, putting our best effort forward, helping others, rooting for the under-dog, trying to be a good human, and make the world a better place for everyone.
Losing my son, is the hardest, most difficult thing I've ever had to endure. Knowing I will never hear his voice again, be able to hug him, play drums with him, travel with him, get a text from him, laugh with him, build and repair things with him, ride bikes with him, share books and music and art with him, trade dad jokes with him, 
build sand castles and sand sculptures, walk on the beach and swim in the ocean or sail with him, open Christmas presents with him, see a concert with him, practice yoga or speak French with him, watch a Chicago team usually lose a game on TV with him, 
enjoy a delicious meal and savor a good bottle of wine with him, change flat tires or oil with him, go to Costco with him, hike and rock parkour and climb mountains with him, sip a glass of fine quality whiskey with him, dance at weddings with him, watch Raising Arizona with him... these things and so many more, a lifetime more, are memories now. Christopher would want us to all go on with life, doing the best we can, listening to and genuinely caring about others, helping the helpless, the little guy, the disenfranchised, assisting those in need. So even though this is the hardest, most difficult thing, we'll do the best we can, as Christopher would want us to, would expect us to do.
